


Take My Breath Away

by laridian



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a request: "Scout has asthma".  Not part of the Forever War series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Breath Away

He'd thought he was just short of breath after running clear across both bases and the no-man's-land to the enemy shed. The desert air was dry, like always, and he couldn't wait for a Bonk to wet his throat, but there was the Intel. He dashed forward, wishing he could stop and catch his breath, but the sentry was firing and he couldn't stop, running just ahead of the bullets.

Scout gasped as he grabbed the briefcase handle. He could hear the sizzle-pop of a sapper, Spy'd got the sentry, now he just had to evade the incoming enemy Soldier and he was home free.

But he felt like he was choking, maybe there was some shit in the air, if he could get outside again, y'know?

"Scout!" It was his Demo. "Gi' me th' Intel. Medic! Medic to Scout!" He grabbed the case and ran as Scout bent over, hands on knees, dizzy from lack of air. He couldn't even call for Medic, how sad was that?

~ ~ ~

Medic pulled him off the field and into the slapped-together infirmary, and made him breathe something out of a tube, as much as Scout could breathe, anyway. But it helped. Scout concentrated on breathing while Medic did his Medicky thing. Breathing was good. Air was good.

"Asthma, I think," Medic said, loud enough to be heard about the ongoing battle.

"Say what? I ain't never had azma before, Doc," Scout wheezed. Medic made him put the tube back in his mouth to keep breathing the stuff in it.

"Maybe so, but you have it now. Perhaps the air here, the dust, has finally gotten to you?"

Scout shook his head and removed the tube long enough to say, "No way, desert air's supposedta be good for azma."

"You're thinking of tuberculosis," Medic said. He rummaged in a drawer for a form and began filling it in quick, precise writing. "You will stay here the rest of the day. Then, we will see if you leave tonight or tomorrow."

"Leave for what?" Scout tried to keep his voice careless, but it came out raspy. Leave for medical treatment, maybe?

"Leave the team. You do not get cured of asthma. Attacks may happen without warning, and the enemy will not wait for you to medicate so you can keep breathing. The team cannot suffer a sick man." Medic signed off on the form. "You get to go home for the holidays early this year, Scout. As of now, you are relieved of duty."


End file.
